Chapter XII – Rain Drops
As President ben-Kurah shook his hand, Leo felt that sick taste in his mouth. The sight of Simon Donovan had shocked him somewhat, it wasn't until he had heard the words that he truly believed they were not meeting over a dead body. The guilt he had been feeling over CJ was back, he felt somehow responsible for her recent anguish. He hadn't appreciated how right Danny had been – looking at her these past two weeks, he wished she hadn't had to live with the worry, the thoughts going through her head, even he understood, must be hell. Leo hung back as the two leaders began to talk in hushed voices. His focus changed for a while to the ambulance, he saw a feeble hand grasp Ron Butterfield's arm and wondered what was being said. Brief alarm caused his eyebrows to rise as Ron drew his side arm, but his face relaxed into a smile as he saw the brotherly affection of a short man and the warmth of a kid, all that was missing... The ambulance pulled away, and Leo turned back to watching the Presidential meeting. Eventually, he was called over to join in the conversation.
Anthony was left behind as his big brother was wheeled inside. He had been standing alone, strangely still for only a minute before his thoughts were interrupted by the clicking of Miles' boots on the pavement before the entrance. The New Yorker placed a hand on the shoulder of the youngster.
"Y'alright, kid?"
"Yeah." The both stood watching through the glass doors of the Emergency Department as Simon's trolley was loaded into an elevator. "He looked real small, Freddie." Miles stiffened, not removing his hand from Anthony's shoulder. He'd never called him Freddie before, although Miles had offered it when they had first met – he'd thought Anthony would have found 'Ferdinand' too laughable.
"Yeah." What more could he say – that was exactly how Simon had looked. Small. Somehow, the man that usually towered over the both of them had just looked so vulnerable. It was unnerving. "But he's tough, you know that Anthony."
"Sure." There was little conviction in the lad's voice; Miles sighed quietly, then started walking toward the entrance, lightly pushing Anthony ahead of him.
Leo sighed, Jeremiah ben-Kurah boarded his plane, thanking the President. The engines fired up. The Marines stood fast, and against that background, Leo and Jed turned in the rain as the plane taxied. The car was waiting, and soaked, they slumped in the back together. Neither had spoken since the Ephari President left their company. The empty airstrip went by in the dark. Water dripped off their noses.
"You warm?" Leo enquired.
"Nope."
"Hey, can we have some heat in here?" The driver was compliant and turned the fans up – even though the cabin was warm already.
"I thought we were being men?"
"Yeah, but when you're my age, sir."
"Yeah, alright."
Silence fell again. As the lights of the city neared, Leo shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"So Donovan's back." Jed twisted round to face his friend who was staring out of the vehicle.
"Yeah."
"I gotta tell CJ." The President's brow creased.
"Leo..." He warned.
"I didn't tell her he was there, I let Ron do it – better she hear it from me this time."
As the nurses fussed around their latest arrival, Ron Butterfield signed him in. Filling in the form was easy, these were details he'd written on many forms in the past; there was only one box that remained empty: "Name". A nurse prompted him to finish as quickly as possible so that they might find the patient's notes. There was a small window for surgery to take place in the morning if all the assessments and examinations were done now, at the dead of night. The pen in his hand betrayed his heart as it etched the "E" into the form. Resting back from the desk, Ron took a deep breath, only to be interrupted by the crash of equipment from the side room to his left.
Bracing himself against the door frame, Ron saw an agitated Simon Donovan clutching his right hand protectively over something on his good side. The rest of his torso was hideously bruised, the colourful patterns on his flesh extending out under the bandaging all the way down to his stomach. Simon was breathing heavily, his oxygen mask askew on his face. The nurses stood back from the snarling wounded animal. They looked confused and scared, turning very cautiously to Ron for explanation or help.
Those blue eyes burned with a fire so intense, even Ron was captivated for a moment; until Simon's growled words snapped his attention back to the wider picture.
"They... want to... take it..." His sentences were punctuated by his need to catch his breath, "can't let them!" Ron was puzzled, he'd never seen this look on Donovan's face – not during the rigorous Secret Service training and not even when they were under fire. Pain was rife in his quivering lips, but the rest of his face was set – his slightly hollowing cheeks pulling the skin tight around his features. The gesture of a hand to the nurses, and they backed away, letting Ron advance towards the cot. This hand remained outstretched as he approached slowly. Their eye contact never faltered for a moment.
"Simon?" The patient was frozen still. "Simon, it's ok – what are they trying to take, son?" Ron took the role of the senior officer, the elder brother, the father figure – everything he'd been taught to calm a man down. To calm even the tightly wound units that the agency produces. The man in the bed looked through his commanding officer, through his boss to a man he knew lurked somewhere beneath the surface; Ron felt the boundaries being broken down and did nothing to stop it. "What is it Simon?"
Without a word, the quivering hand moved to reveal a small plastic covered square that had been carefully taped to the skin. As Simon struggled, soft hands helped him with the task of removing it. Holding the tape-covered packet in his hands, Ron looked for instruction.
"Keep it... safe... means a... lot." The rasp in his voice coupled with the overtones of Ephari made it hard to catch the words, but sometimes, words were not necessary to see the truth in a person's thoughts. In that moment, neither of them had noticed the arrival of two more visitors. The soft clearing of a man's throat threw Ron back to his full height, the agent let his eyes fall cold and reserved as he met Ferdinand and Anthony.
"Everything a'right here Simon?" Miles asked sceptically, not sure at this moment to what extent he ought trust Ron. The head of the President's security stepped aside, revealing a sun and dye darkened, but peaceful face. Miles had been informed that they were preparing Simon for the scans and examinations before what was going to be the first stage of a lengthily rehabilitation process. There wasn't much time before his friend went under the knife; there wasn't much more time after that before his presence would become far from anonymous. The short man took the few steps up to the cot.
"Hey you..." Simon smiled. "I'm gonna be here, Anthony's gotta go to college," the ever-expressive eyebrows raise. "yeah, college, you heard me right, wants to be a cop now y'know!" A smile broke across Simon's face, and as his eyes met with Anthony's, tears gazed over their surface. The soft one-way banter continued for a minute or two, before Miles abruptly asked Anthony if he'd give them some time with Ron, alone. The youngster was wary to comply, but made no fuss.
"Simon, I gotta ask you this now." Miles paused, looking hard at Ron. "You wanna see her before you go under?"
"Miles!" Ron pleaded, then looking at Simon, "I know you want to see her, out things right, I don't know, but you're about to have major..."
"God damn! Surely that's reason enough to see her Butterfield!"
"What about the stress, he doesn't need that right now!"
"Won't it lay his mind at rest, at least knowing she's been informed he's in the damn country!"
"What good will it do right this minute!" The two men were squaring up to each other, Ferdinand's chin was set hard against his former commanding officer; Ron stared down intensely at the shirt detective – there was a brief silence in the shouting, punctuated by a mumbling from the cot.
"What... what about... what... I want?" Simon croaked. Ron and Ferdinand looked sheepish. Their shoulders relaxed and they moved away from one another to face their friend. He swallowed hard before speaking. "I... don't want... her to see me... like this." Both looked slightly stunned at the answer. Simon's breathing was still coarse, his body still rebuilding his damaged lung and torso.
"But, Simon?" Ferdinand started, he fell silent when a tanned hand was feebly raised.
"Not... like – this." Simon's face was hard, yet his eyes betrayed his real feelings. He longed more than anything to see CJ Cregg; his heart burned just to get some kind of confrontation over with – no matter the outcome. Yet it was his head that spoke – it wasn't fair to present her with a pathetic mass, and his pride – for this mess wasn't the man she knew. He turned his face away, not allowing them to see the silent tear that escaped down his left cheek.
It was three am. She'd been home for only an hour. Eventually, the West Wing had emptied and she thought she should get some sleep. Great thought, but now that she was at home, the empty space that was her apartment was keeping her awake. She sat in the bay window seat, knees drawn up to her chin, just staring at the street visible in the pools of light below. A frog hopped along the pavement. How out of place, frogs belonged in parks and ponds, not side-walks. Yet it seemed quite happy, just bopping along, without a care in the world. For a moment, CJ was jealous – how easy it is for animals just to struggle for life; with one goal in mind, with no regret, emotional pain... her thoughts were cut off by the sharp tone of her cell.
"CJ Cregg" She answered wearily, she hadn't bothered to glance at the caller ID, it would be the White House, no one else at this hour.
"It's Leo."
"What can I do?"
"You sleeping?"
"No."
"Okay." There was a pause, CJ heard his take a deep breath, she knew something was coming:
"Leo?" He swallowed.
"CJ, I thought you should know, before the press get their hands on it."
"Yeah?"
"Eric Orson was delivered back to Washington about an hour ago. He's being treated in GW. Re-constructive surgery on his left shoulder."
"What?" She hissed, bile rising in her stomach, threatening her composure.
"I'll give you the details tomorrow, I just thought..."
"Is he there now?"
"Where?"
"GW?"
"Yeah, they're doing tests and scans, he's having surgery in the morning." CJ fell silent, her mind racing, fuelled by rage and anger, pure and simple.
"Thank you Leo." CJ snapped the phone shut, her mind was blank, but before she knew it, coat in hand, she was driving on into the night.
The 6ft frame of CJ Cregg swept unceremoniously into the hospital; she rode the elevator, urging it to quicken. At the sixth floor, she exited. As she stormed past the nurses' station, she laid eyes on a vaguely familiar figure. Miles looked up as he heard the typical step of a woman. His eyes widened in shock as he placed an identity to the sound.
"Where is he?" She growled, anger still being the manifest emotion. Miles raised himself quickly to his full height – she still towered menacingly over him, it would be a lie to say something in his stomach didn't betray his fear.
"He's just gone for some scans." She was fuming in his face, her cheeks burned red. As her anger-fogged mind tried to think what was going to happen next, Ron arrived, returning from a trip to the vendors with a cup of steaming coffee in each hand. He quickly dumped them on the nurses' station before closing the distance over to the pair.
"Ms Cregg!" He interrupted, she turned to him, and he felt the fire in her eyes.
"You weren't going to tell me about him coming back this time, were you?"
"Ms Cregg, please..." She cut him off:
"I want answers, but sure as hell not from you," she turned a moment to Miles, "and not from you, but from him this time!" She gestured toward the empty room.
"I think you should calm down..." Ron started, trying to soothe her.
"Calm down, Agent Butterfield!" Her arms flew into the air, her face was taut, her eyes bulging in her emotional and adrenalin fuelled state.
"Yes, calm down, damn it – the man's about to have a major operation, this stress is the last thing he needs – think about it!" CJ was seething, but she knew Ron was right. Her tone softened, her anger dissipating slowly as she realised that she wasn't sure what she'd even say to the man if she saw him. As the mist cleared, she felt sheepish.
"Can I see him at least?" Her voice was wavering, unsure. Miles, who had fallen silent during the exchange piped up:
"CJ, I'm sorry – he expressly said that he doesn't want you to see him..." Miles didn't get to finish, she had turned and bolted before he could get the last words out... "like this." He whispered in dismay, not knowing whether to run after her or let her go. He looked to Ron for support, only to receive a hard glare before seeing the back of the taller man as he went after her. Just that second, a pair of swing doors burst open and Simon's trolley came slowly into view. His heart sunk.
CJ burst through the door into the stairwell, there was no time to wait for the elevator to hide her shame and upset. Tears streamed freely down her face. She made it down the first two flights, before collapsing against the banister, sobbing deeply sat on the cold concrete of the stairs. CJ didn't hear the door being flung open, her name being called by a now all-too-familiar voice, nor the footsteps that landed Special Agent Ron Butterfield next to her.
Confusion – why was she this upset? She'd been denying her feelings, she hadn't even been thinking about Simon for a month or two...
"CJ?" Ron's voice was tender, surprisingly so.
"I only knew him five, damned minutes!" she sniffed.
"I know."
"Why do I feel like this! Why couldn't I just let him go? Now... he doesn't... oh God! What the hell was I expecting!" CJ finally looked at the man sat next to her, her tear-streaked face was ashen, she shook her head, searching his eyes for some kind of explanation – some way out.
"You didn't let Miles finish." Ron took a deep breath. "He was going to say that Simon didn't want you to see him 'like this' – do you see?" She shook her head, "He's lying in a hospital bed, CJ! He can't move, he can hardly speak... Do you have any idea how that makes a man like us feel?" CJ was silent, he was right, they were soldiers, they were men – they had a pride that surpassed the normal male's. The tears dried up, she breathed levelly again. Ron didn't know what made him do it, but he reached into his suit jacket, rummaging in a pocket. CJ watched him absently, not able to quite understand the implications and importance of two simple words... 'like this'.
The fluorescent light in the stairwell glinted briefly off the surface of the item in Ron's hand. He held it out to her.
"What's?" She questioned. Ron wasn't sure himself, although he had a suspicion – the last transaction on a credit card bill. The testimony of a young agent terrified by an emotional Simon Donovan at an airport so many months ago.
"Open it." She carefully pulled a tab of tape that had obviously been resealed many times. The tape around the edge of the packet was well worn, on one side, the once white surface had been stained a dark brown. Carefully removing the contents, she waited with baited breath as she began to unfold a piece of what could only be photo paper. The sob echoed up and down the whole height of the stairwell. A strong arm pulled her into a soft shoulder as the tears returned with extra might. She tried to catch her breath, not sure of the exact feeling – her stomach was twisting, and her heart reeling. Her own image stared up at her; she smiled and Simon pressed his lips against her cheek. Something welled up in her chest and felt like it stopped her heart for a moment. The image was worn away where the paper had been folded and unfolded time and again; the edges were crumpled and there were dirty finger prints all over it.
"He printed it at the airport before he left. Nearly burst a gasket when the nurses tried to take it off him..." Ron paused to try and let her take in what he was saying to her. "Simon asked me to keep it safe for him until he's done with surgery." Finally she looked at him, before letting her eyes slip back to the photo. Slowly, she folded it up, and placed it back in the plastic, resealing it with care. CJ held it out to him,
"Thank you." Her voice was but above a whisper, Ron reluctantly took the picture back, he nodded.
CJ got unsteadily to her feet. Ron sat still. She took a few steps down before turning. "Tell him that when CJ Cregg finds out he's here, she's gonna kick his ass." She half smiled, holding back a further outburst of tears. "You tell him that... and you tell me when – you just call me, ok?"
"I'll call you, Ms Cregg, but I think he knows the rest." She bowed her head slightly and turned, her heels getting distant as she descended further into the cool. Ron stood waiting for the door on the other end. He held the picture in his hand and tapped his foot; Simon would be back by now.
TBC-